


feel forever

by somnicordia (hihazuki)



Series: liquid gold [2]
Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Developing Relationship, M/M, Rating May Change, about half of it is sandy waxing poetic about lucifer, bullying sandalphon: the fic, many characters make a cameo, the other half is sandy being...sandy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:01:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21821734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hihazuki/pseuds/somnicordia
Summary: Everything, he had come to understand, was something like infinity. They might never come close, but they could approach a point where, for all intents and purposes, he knew all that he needed to know. It would simply take time, and patience. For now, he knew enough.
Relationships: Lucifer/Sandalphon (Granblue Fantasy)
Series: liquid gold [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1550584
Comments: 18
Kudos: 62





	feel forever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [moonflares (jennyhearts)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennyhearts/gifts).



> for cai, my guiding light <3
> 
> sequel to the bodyswap fic.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s not a dream. He’s alive, and not just in a dream. 
> 
> _It wasn’t all just a dream._

  
  


Sandalphon misses the time when he thought of Lucifer as a star, distant and untouchable. 

Exalted far above everyone else, with a radiance that eclipses the moon and all the extraneous rocks around him. Sandalphon had been perfectly content with watching him from a distance and admiring his luster, pining just like everyone else. It was a simple and easy love; less mystifying and more canonizing. It was a love deeply ingrained in him long before he gained sentience.

Now, up close and intertwined in ways he would have never thought conceivable, he struggles to comprehend it; to know a happiness that he has never known before. He is in front of him, beside him, across from him. He’s everywhere and nowhere else. When their hands brush and their eyes meet, the world becomes the two of them, contained within the cylindrical rims of the cups they cradle between the palms of their hands. 

Time loses all consequence during these moments. And perhaps time never mattered, couldn’t hold a candle to the inextinguishable flame of their lives, destined to live on and on, longer than the world itself.

He’s lost track of how many times they’ve reconvened together, just like this. It was as if they had never stopped, always hovering close to one another, even after the Rebellion. His silhouette was memorized, time and time again. On him he depends to walk him through day and night, to help him transcend. 

In the end, just they remain. Completely the same.

“I missed this,” Sandalphon says, nursing the steaming cup near his lips, entranced by the gentle ripples of deep chocolate. “It brings back so many memories.” 

“It does,” he hears Lucifer say. “Nothing can make me happier than being here, with you." A pause. "Even if I live now on borrowed time.”

“What?” Sandalphon looks up, and the sound of shattered glass pierces through tranquil birdsong. 

Lucifer’s teacup, once polished and whole, is now in pieces, spilled liquid taking on a reddish tinge not unlike that of blood. It drips off the table and onto the chair that Lucifer had occupied just seconds earlier, and he freezes, hyper fixating on every drop.

“Sandalphon…”

He whirls around. 

"Lucifer, you're alright!” Immense relief washes over Sandalphon in spades, and he almost topples over from the weight of it. “Thank goodness, I thought—"

All it takes is to look down, and that’s when his blood runs cold. From Lucifer’s abdomen protrudes a metal of gleaming crimson, dripping like the splattered liquid on the table— 

— and a hooded figure hovering, silent and menacing, behind him. 

Time suddenly speeds up, his eyes flashing in anger. His blade is out in a flash, mind churning out possibilities in rapid succession. Is it Beelzebub? He hadn’t seen the man once since the conflict with Lucillius, but he doesn’t doubt his comrades when they’d reported him sealed for life. It can’t be him. Then is it that depraved serpent? Had he somehow writhed his way back into their skies again? 

_You wanna know how Lucifer died?_ He had sneered, relishing in every syllable he uttered, eyes narrowed in sadistic glee. 

No, he’s not going to let Lucifer die again. Not like this. Not again!

“Belial!” Sandalphon roars, rounding on the assailant with exhilarating speed. “Let him go!”

 _“Belial?”_ The figure laughs then, his voice eerie but mind-shatteringly familiar. He pulls out his sword, and Lucifer is tossed to the side like some kind of ragdoll. Any suspension of disbelief that Sandalphon feels is overwhelmed by white-hot furor.

How dare he. How _dare_ he.

With a blood curdling shriek, he strikes. But the assailant is quick on his feet, darting out of the way right before the blade slices him. With every blow, Sandalphon grows more incensed and frantic, but somehow the other one is faster, almost as if knowing where and when his blade will make contact. Sandalphon’s speed is inhuman, but his blade grazes nothing but air, even with its lightning quick precision.

He feels himself losing control. He knows he’s losing control, threads of rationality fading into wisps. His vision is spotting and breath comes heavily labored, but he will never bow down. He’s gone through so much. Even if he’ll lose his life, he’ll save Lucifer’s. 

Without hesitation, he releases all limiters. It pulls every ounce of energy from his core, enough to suck every bit of his life force. He’s ready for it, anything to smite the entity that had thought it fitting to take Lucifer a second time. 

But when he looks up, he freezes in place, bile rising to his throat.

The other man’s hood is down.

“You.” Sandalphon breathes. “I don’t understand. Why—”

“Why, indeed.” The imposter laughs coldly. The red of his eyes, so much like his own, glow an intense crimson. “Do you really think that just because you brought him back, he’ll be safe from harm?”

“I,” He begins, the words stuck in his throat. It feels like falling through the sky with wings of lead. No matter how much he struggles, he’s still plummeting. Out of all the people — how could he ever have expected something like this? “I don’t think so, I _know_ so. He’ll never be threatened for as long as I’m here.”

His replica stops in his tracks, letting out a snort. Before long he’s throwing his head back and roaring with laughter — Sandalphon’s stomach starts to churn, fingers tightening on his scabbard. There’s nothing more disconcerting than seeing how twisted his own expression looks on somebody else. “Is that funny?”

“Hilarious, actually. It’s staring you right in the face, and you’re _still_ denying it! This is too much.” He makes a show of wiping imaginary tears off his face, but only manages to smear blood on his face. 

Sandalphon levels the tip of his blade at him. “Start making sense now before I make you, charlatan.”

“Oooh, scary!” He shudders in a shallow apery of fear. “I see it now — you think that you’re invincible now because of your _precious_ friends. But if you think that’s enough, you must be out of your damn mind. Did you know?” he grins, canines flashing. “You don’t have to kill to be a murderer.”

 _But didn’t you think it was strange? Even if Lucifer was mortally wounded, he should have been able to get off a retaliatory shot or two._ Belial’s voice creeps in, a devil on his shoulder. _But his hands were tied. He was standing in front of an angel’s cradle._

“No…” 

“Hmm?” He tilts his head, sneer wide as ever. “What was that?”

“No, you’re wrong.” He tries, but it sounds weak. “They said— I’m—”

What? He can’t remember. Why is nothing coming to mind?

“Poor thing.” The other coos. “Without them, you’re helpless, aren’t you?”

He barely blocks the next strike, and blood from the replica’s blade splatters against Sandalphon’s face.

Lucifer’s blood. 

Dark and clotting on his fingers as he held his remnants in Canaan. Seeping into the cracks on the ground, blackened and congealing. Pooling out of a shattered teacup, streaming down the table legs in rivulets, going _drip, drip, drip_ — 

_The only flaw in his perfect defenses...the only time he ever wavered...was cleaning up the mess you made, Sandalphon._

He stumbles backwards, desperate to get away. But there’s an invisible rope tying his legs down, and he can barely make it two steps back before falling. The replica saunters up to him, heels clacking languidly.

_And you want revenge on the fallen angels? Even when—_

“They’re not here. They can’t protect you. Even if they are, why should they? When—”

The replica brings his face closer, his fangs glinting with malice. Sandalphon can’t speak, can’t breathe, because the voice that speaks next is overlaid with Belial’s.

_“ —you’re the reason he died in the first place?”_

  
  


.

.

.

He wakes up to blackness, core rattling in his chest, his breaths wheezing. There’s an incessant ringing in his ears that won’t go away, not even when he brings his hands to his ears. He feels damp, sticky from where his nightshirt clings to his form — he can’t stop shivering. His eyes dart frantically around the room, anticipating his night terrors come to life. 

Nothing. There’s nothing, just him, his bed, and the soft, low whirring of the ship’s engines somewhere far above him. And yet he can’t calm down; not when his nightmares seemed so real, so fresh. It’s almost too much for him to bear, the darkness he is once accustomed to now pressing in on him from all sides. 

It makes absolutely no sense. Why, after all this time, would something like this come to haunt him now? Despite everything he’s gone through; everything they’ve gone through, his mind still sees it fit to conjure such wholly meaningless impostures. Which was a dream and which was reality? What’s to say he didn’t wake up into another dream?

There’s a knock on the door.

“Sandalphon?”

He puts his head in trembling hands and takes a deep breath. _In, out. In, out_. If he focuses hard enough, maybe the room will stop spinning, and he won’t feel the urge to dump the contents of his stomach on the floor. 

“Sandalphon, I’m coming in.”

It’s not a dream. He’s alive, and not just in a dream. 

_It wasn’t all just a dream._

The door opens with a gentle creak, footsteps crossing the threshold.

“I felt a disturbance in your room and— Sandalphon?” The voice is familiar and soothing, although the worry seeping through is palpable. “Are you alright?”

He wants to look up, but he can’t. His head feels heavy and sluggish, all his energy spent. And yet, he doesn’t need to. He already knows who’s taking a seat on the edge of his bed, this person who even now is still much too solicitous to intrude on his personal space. He feels a warm hand rest on his back; tentative, almost as if he might break. 

And maybe he would have, if those hands hadn’t reached out to hold him together. A minute — no, a _second_ longer, and he might have actually shattered the same way. 

Things start becoming nebulous then, when he feels a wave of something so much bigger than himself sweep over him, like when he was exposed for the first time to those bestial experiments, the tumescence of horror sucking at his feet like a violent riptide. Like a child, standing bow legged, wings clipped, facing the endless menace of a sea threatening to devour, rip him apart, and spit him out; over and over and over again, an endless loop. 

A sound escapes his throat uninvited, something he barely recognizes, and then he’s pulled in close — limbs, body and all.

He’s faintly aware of words; his voice, resonant and warm, murmuring gentle consolation. But the blood is still rushing through his ears, and everything is muffled except the sound of his own core. The hand on his back starts rubbing in circles, a dash of clarity puncturing the whipcord leash that had wound him up so tight; and he suddenly goes limp, leaning more heavily into the warmth in front of him. The darkness persists, but it’s no longer threatening, and the ringing in his ears finally, finally starts to subside. 

His perception has been reduced to the most basic of observations, and all he can think of is how warm the other is, how he doesn’t ever want to let go. Like a moth to a flame, he is drawn. With trembling fingers, he reaches out blindly to find fingers enclosing his in return. 

“Please,” Sandalphon croaks, and his voice sounds alien even to him. Like he’s several layers removed from reality. “Don’t go.”

“I’m here.”

“Stay with me,” he begs, his voice fracturing, and that’s the last thing he remembers before he surrenders into blissful slumber once more. 

This time, he dreams mercifully of nothing. 

The next time he gains consciousness, it’s with a lush, lovely ebb, like drops of summer rain evaporating on sun-kissed earth. Everything is blurry; he doesn’t know who he is or where he is. All he feels is a wonderful, all-encompassing warmth to his being that his flimsy, thin sheets have never given him. Instinctively, he curls up into it, making a small, contented noise at the back of his throat as the daze of sleep spools and unspools pleasantly in his mind.

The weight around his waist tightens in response, and an overwhelmingly familiar scent floods his nostrils. It’s comforting, like waking up to a garden of pear blossoms and lilies. He inhales deeply, relishing in how the fragrance seeps into his core, before letting himself drift back into the beckoning tendrils of sleep once more.

Or so he would have, if he doesn’t hear the loud racket outside his door. Before he could even begin to gather his wits about himself, the door to his room slams open, and rowdy voices flood the room with light and noise — so much light and noise. He recoils by burrowing his face in his pillow and burying himself deeper into his cocoon, staunching his agitated groans.

“What in the... you’re still in bed?” One exclaims with a buoyant bounce in her voice he recognizes as Mal. “Weird, you never usually sleep in so late. Anyways, time to get up! We heard that Lucifer came back!”

He hears the sound of the blinds rip open, and he curses as even more light blinds him.

“Yeah, Sandy, were you ever planning on telling us? Come on, now, you can’t keep him from us forever! At least tell us where he is so we can say hi!” The other twin continues, her voice low and sultry — Hal.

“We even got the picnic table set up so we can all have the tea party like we were supposed to ages ago! With Lucifer back, it should be even...more...” Mal trails to a stuttering halt. 

“Hm? Mal, is everything o— huh?” 

The room plunges into silence once more. For a small, irrational moment, Sandalphon thinks they’ve finally left him in peace, but that hope is miserably short lived. 

“Hey, so what’s the holdup? You guys need an extra hand in getting Grumplephon out of bed?” Gran’s voice travels through the door, and then his head pops out. “Good timing, actually. Lyria bought a new batch of felt markers that Vyrn could — oh. Oh, _wow_.”

“Why,” He growls, still bleary with sleep. His throat feels scratchy, and there’s too many people in his room. Why are there so many people in his room? And why are they acting like they’ve never seen someone sleeping before? He is thoroughly irritated. “Didn’t I tell you time and time again that this is _not_ a common room that you can just prance into any time you damn well please? And yet, here you are, once again trespassing into my room without even as much as a knock on the door. Mark my words, I _will_ put a lock on my door if that’s what it takes to teach you all some—” But when he tries to sit up, there’s an extra weight holding him down. “ —decency.” When he looks beside him, any further scathing remark he’d been meaning to say dies in his throat. 

Lyria turns the corner, her voice carrying innocently. “I heard my name! Did someone need me?”

“No, Lyria, don’t look!” Gran covers her eyes, and she yelps. Then, in a very low voice, he says, “It seems we’ve stumbled upon a scene we’d like to call rated M for _mature_.” He looks up, thinking. “Actually, this sounds familiar. I’m fairly sure I’ve read something like this in one of Lunalu’s manuscripts.”

Sandalphon’s expression remains perfectly neutral and still; frozen, even. 

The bundle beside him rouses, and from it emerges a very sleepy, very disheveled face. “Sandalphon?” As if it weren’t enough, the blanket falls away to reveal a bare shoulder— 

— and an equally bare torso.

Somewhere in the room, there’s a very soft, almost inaudible gasp. 

“Decency.” Gran observes.

“It’s...not what it looks like.” Sandalphon offers weakly.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

True to the twins’ word, the deck has been prepared for a tea party, complete with condiments, scones, and savories that Sandalphon doesn’t know the name of. He’s never seen anything more elaborate. It astounds him, just a bit. There are a dozen or so in attendance, and somehow there’s enough seats for all of them; including the angels and Sandalphon himself. Conversation comes merry and easy when the breeze is cool and the weather is perfect. Sandalphon almost feels like he could relax.

Almost. 

“So,” Gran begins with an air of contrived nonchalance, leaning closer to Sandalphon. “I guess now’s a good a time as any.”

“What do you want.” Sandalphon says flatly, but there’s a hint of dread bubbling in his stomach. That kind of expression on the Singularity never bode well for whoever it was directed to; he knows it firsthand.

Gran clears his throat, a little too distinct to feel natural. “I’m not an expert on primarch anatomy, so I might be laboring under an assumption here, but I just wanted to let you know that if you require certain... items for personal use, I would be more than happy to get them for you.” His face is a simulacrum of sagely understanding. “Just make sure to ask me when Lyria’s not around, alright? She’s still a little too young for—” 

“For the love of the skyrealm,” Sandalphon interjects, much louder than he had intended. It brings all idle conversation to a halt. “We didn’t— we’re not like that!”

“You’re not?” Gran recoils in surprise. “You said you wanted a lock on your room. And we walked into—” 

If Gran finishes that sentence, he might just send the ship straight to the Crimson Horizon. “That doesn’t mean I’m— ugh, I told you! It’s just a fundamental right! It has nothing to do with what you’re implying!”

“That so,” Gran shrugs, noncommittal. “M’bad. I just figured since you’ve never asked for one up until Lucifer returned, that maybe...”

“Perhaps it’s occurred to you that I am now demanding one as a result of all those times you and your rowdy companions barged into my room unannounced!” The brunet fumes. The blood is rising to his face and his back is terribly itchy, but he’d rather die than succumb to it now. “With your silly pranks, above all. Do you know how hard it was to wipe off all that ink on my face?"

Lucifer, who had wisely kept his silence this whole time, chooses the absolute worst time to speak up. “Ink?”

“Oh, I remember!” Hal exclaims, bursting into laughter. “Vyrn was trying to prank Sandalphon that one time when Lyria bought new markers because getting him out of his room was almost impossible.”

“So we came in _suuuper_ early in the morning to find sleeping beauty still fast asleep.” Mal giggled. “We couldn’t believe our luck. Usually he’d be up if he hears even as much as a person breathing in front of his door.”

“You all made me stay up with you for multiple days slaying pests that plenty of other skyfarers could have easily taken care of.” Sandalphon says crossly. “Who could have expected you to pull off something so inane right after that?”

“And that’s what made it the perfect time!” Vyrn chortles.

“Don’t worry, Sandalphon.” Lyria remarks upon seeing the blatant distress on his face. She looks like she wants to reach out and pat Sandalphon’s head. “The whiskers were adorable on you! I wish I could have recorded the memory somehow…”

“Thank god you hadn’t.” 

“That would have been nice.” Lucifer says, forlorn. “I’d have liked to see it.”

Sandalphon groans. “Not you, too!”

The group dissolves into hearty laughter, and Sandalphon turns away, grumbling under his breath. But with the number of people present, the train of conversation moves and branches out quickly, and soon Sandalphon finds that he can finally have some time to himself. He stirs his cooling cup of coffee and settles in. 

The twin angels are talking to each other, but every now and then they glance at Lucifer, almost like a pair of shy schoolgirls. At least, one of them looks like one— the other is hanging off of Lyria with shameless abandon, but Sandalphon can catch her eyes drifting every now and then, as if she’s trying to make sure he isn’t an illusion. Io must have caught wind of Lucifer’s (unexpected) sweet tooth, because she’s poring over the biscuits she spent the better part of the night making with Rosetta’s help. Lucifer laughs and smiles on cue with a politeness that comes off as genuine interest instead of perfunctory, and probably thinks nothing of last night. 

Last night, when he had snuck into his quarters and stayed with him through the night. 

Why in the world was he naked, anyway? He wasn’t completely bare, thankfully; Sandalphon remembers vividly the immense relief of brushing up against fabric under the covers. But had he always slept bare-chested? It’s mind boggling — Sandalphon can’t ever imagine sleeping without garments, far too prone is he to the night chills. 

There’s so much he doesn’t know about Lucifer. And about himself, too — he admits to himself, ears warming — if he’s already taken to the idea of cuddling with someone in bed.

As if on cue, Gran snaps his fingers, looking triumphant.

“Gran?” Lyria asks. “What’s up?” 

“Oh, it’s nothing.” Gran replies with cheer. “I just remembered something. Small detail, really.”

“Oh?” Sandalphon sneers. “Care to share with the class?”

“With pleasure.” Gran says easily, then turns to Rackam. “Time to pay up, my man.”

Rackam clicks his tongue, obviously less than enthused as he tosses a crumpled ten thousand rupie bill Gran’s way, who snatches it up with smug glee. “I was hoping you’d forget.”

“Forget about easy money? Not a chance.”

Rackam glowers. “You know I’m only taking your word for this, right? I didn’t see it myself.”

“Right, but there were witnesses. You’ll take their word for it too, won’t you?” Gran pauses. “Well, except Lyria. She was there, too, but — well, just don’t ask Lyria.”

The helmsman stares at Gran, who stares right back. In the end, Rackam breaks it off, sighing. “You can hold onto that for now, but don’t think you’ve won. There are still other bets.”

“Hey, we’ll see.” Gran pockets the money, completely serene. “I’m just surprised it wasn’t obvious enough to you.”

“I don’t like to assume. Even if he has a smaller build, who knows? Doesn’t mean he’s automatically a little spoon.”

He had an inkling from the start of their conversation, but now they might as well have looked at him when they said that. The force with which Sandalphon drags his chair away from the table is equivalent to thunder, and his expression is a raging inferno. “Have you two been _betting_ on me?!”

He is met with guilt-stricken expressions; except for Lucifer, who looks more startled than confused; likely because he hasn’t processed what was happening. But before disaster could strike and cataclysms can topple islands a second time, Lyria speaks up. 

“What’s a little spoon?”

Silence. Then Hal clears her throat, splaying herself on Lyria once more. “Oh, my sweet summer child; if you had just asked, big sister Hal can—” 

“Oh, yes, that reminds me,” Rosetta inserts smoothly, though the veiled urgency in her voice is unmistakable. Sandalphon glares at both Rackam and Gran, promising danger, then sits down with a huff. “I’ve never quite seen a primal occupy a vessel that they did not beget themselves. May I ask how you’re feeling?” 

Lucifer takes some time to assemble the words in his mind. “I feel...perfectly fine. Granted, it’s taking some time to calibrate the ether in this body to match my core’s output, but I don’t see any foreseeable issues with the body’s functional stability... although my proportions are of some concern.”

Rackam makes a choked sound at the back of his throat. “P-Proportions, you say?”

“Yes,” Lucifer looks at him quizzically. “They are rather large and not quite what I’m used to. Is there a problem?”

He looks like he’s about to turn purple, and his eyes flicker all across the table. “With all due respect, Lucifer, I appreciate your honesty, but don’t you think this is a tad bit inappro— _ouch!_ ”

The stupidity has gone too far. Sandalphon doesn’t regret jabbing his heel into Rackam’s toe, who’s seated right across from him. “He’s talking about his light energy in proportion to the other elements, you degenerate!” 

Eugen breaks out in a guffaw. “Walked right into that one, he did!”

Katalina’s hand is on her face, looking like she wants to be anywhere but here. “Well, this is turning out to be a fine disaster.”

“Come on, Katalina,” Gran winks at her. “You know you’re having fun.” 

“I won’t deny it, but let’s keep it in moderation, shall we?” Katalina shakes her head, smiling in exasperation. “Lucifer has only been back for a few weeks, after all. We shouldn’t overwhelm him too much.”

“Wow, come to think of it, it’s been like, what, two weeks, hasn’t it?” Eugen chuckles, choosing that moment to clap Lucifer on the back, who jolts from the suddenness of it. Sandalphon’s skin prickles. “If you ever need anything, just know that we’re all here for you.” Eugen glances around the table. “Well, most of us are. Where the heck’s Lucio?” 

Sandalphon bites his lip, settling for balling his fists under the table. He knows Eugen didn’t mean to startle him, and that this type of camaraderie is pretty on par for the kind of crew they are. But seeing the resulting unease on Lucifer’s face makes Sandalphon want so badly to tell him off (didn’t Katalina _just_ say to take it easy on him?), and he very nearly does. 

It drives him crazy, knowing that he would have done so with no hesitation had he been the same person he was before he joined the crew. As it stands, he finds himself warring with his thoughts. 

But before he can say anything, a hand covers his own under the table, giving him a light squeeze. He looks up to see Lucifer flashing him a pacifying smile before turning back to Eugen, and the warmth on his hand is gone as fast as it came.

“Lucio has been away for three days now, but he should be back soon.” Lucifer says, oblivious to Sandalphon’s face burning embarrassment. “Or so he’s told me. Has he said anything to you?”

“Nope,” Lyria shakes her head, then reconsiders. “Oh, wait! I think I remember him saying something about...uh, a very important mission about the creation myth.”

“The creation myth?” Vyrn says. “I know he’s a history nut, but what could he possibly do about a _myth_?”

“Maybe he’s secretly a scholar.” Io points out. “Come to think of it, we don’t even know what he does. What if he’s trying to prove that the myth was real?”

“He just likes chasing rainbows, I guess.” Gran laughs like he's making a harmless joke, but there's a sobriety in his eyes that one can only see if they're paying attention.

Sandalphon and Lucifer share a look. The rainbow— also known as the passageway to the rift leading from this realm to the next. The only way to confine an immortal. From what Lyria revealed, and Gran’s clever innuendo, it’s clear to Sandalphon that the man is checking to see if the rift is stable. He didn’t know how many people were aware of Lucio’s role in sealing away their most recent adversaries, but judging by how many people brushed off the veiled comment, it was just the three of them, not counting Cagliostro. 

“Yeah,” Sandalphon shrugs lightly. “Who knows what’s going through his head.”

“In any case, you and Lucio seem pretty close,” Gran grins, turning to Lucifer. “I can’t say I’m surprised — you guys look and even act like siblings.”

“While I’m reluctant to chalk our relationship up to something as unequivocal as _siblings,_ I do look up to him. He’s helped me out far more than he needed to.” Lucifer smiles shyly. “And as it turns out, we have much in common, despite his sprightly disposition.” 

“Interesting. I guess you can say you really... _see yourself_ in him, huh.” Gran nods wisely.

Amidst the ensuing collective groans, Sandalphon rolls his eyes. “That was terrible, and you ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

He sticks out his tongue, blowing a raspberry. “Admit it, Sandy, you’re just jealous he’s spending more time with Lucio than you.” 

Sandalphon turns a shade darker. “That’s an absurd allegation to make. Just because he spends his time with Lucio while I’m at work doesn’t automatically mean I’m jealous. Besides, we already spend the—” he stops, then frowns when he hears the hushed snickers erupt from around him. “Wait, that’s not the point. Singularity, how dare you turn this on me!” 

“Aw, I’m back to _Singularity_ now?” Gran bemoans. “You’re breaking my heart!”

“Alright, that’s enough out of you.” Katalina reaches over to bop Gran on the head, with the latter laughing and pleading for forgiveness.

Sandalphon crosses his arms, sighing. In hindsight, he should have seen this misconception coming. It’s true — Lucifer has gotten much closer to Lucio, but that wasn’t the problem. Sandalphon himself felt indebted to Lucio after all he’s done, and wouldn’t mind doing a thing or two for him (he might have gone out of his way a few times to leave a steaming cup of coffee with an extra dash of cream, just the way Sandalphon knows he likes it, in his room — but no one needs to know that, not even Lucifer). But the reverence that Lucifer displays to Lucio on a daily basis rings far more than simple gratitude, and the brunet can’t wrap his head around it.

To everyone's surprise, Lucio himself has taken to doting over Lucifer’s wellbeing, and with how much he tries to accommodate the latter’s needs, anyone would be hard-pressed to believe it’s anything but fraternal love. Along with their looks, it’s fueled their renown to the extent where people would even refer to them as _Twin Spangle_ s whenever they’re spotted together — courtesy of Vyrn, of course. 

Sandalphon suspects that Lucio intentionally plays it up whenever the brunet is around, but Lucifer genuinely doesn’t seem to notice or mind, judging by how clueless he is when Sandalphon complains. There’s a crawling dread that Lucio would, at some point, rope him into assuming each other’s identities and truly turn Sandalphon’s life into a living hell.

(He’d say some nonsense about swapping bodies for old time’s sake, but this time _better,_ and then Sandalphon would have no choice but to purge him from the physical realm.)

On the upside, he doubts that Lucifer would ever go along with it...on purpose, at least. He doesn’t know what Lucio is capable of when he really puts his mind to it, and Lucifer is perhaps one of the most gullible people on the ship. Sandalphon has one fear.

The misery in his expression must have shown, because he suddenly earns an eyeful of an upside down Vyrn, who had drifted over and nestled on his head without him noticing. “You okay there, crab cake?”

Sandalphon narrows his eyes at him. “I’ll thank you to not give me such fatuous nicknames. And stop messing up my hair!”

Lucifer chuckles at the sight. “It warms my heart to see you all get along so wonderfully.”

He doesn’t know how anything that happened up to this point constitutes as ‘wonderful’, but Sandalphon isn’t about to be the one to correct him. He settles for looking away, grumbling.

“All this commotion aside, we’re really glad to have you here, Lucifer.” Katalina speaks up, the only voice of reason in this motley pigpen they call a crew. “It’s been a long time coming.”

“Thank you for having me. I...” he pauses, clearing his throat. He looks a little sheepish. “…Pardon me. Would you mind if I talked for a bit?”

“You don’t even need to ask!” Lyria blurts out, waving her hands. “Sorry, we kind of just hogged all the spotlight…”

“It’s no problem at all.” He replies, smiling. “I needed it, actually. Seeing all of you helps ground me to the truth. As you can see...I’m still having trouble believing that I’m here, with everyone. Once the torch was passed on, my story was marked complete… or so I believed. I was content to live in a memory as long as my wish carried on.” He puts his hand to his chest, where his revitalized core is thrumming. “To think that I could return to this scenery once more, with each and every one of you...I’m truly grateful.”

“Lucifer…”

“I haven’t yet properly thanked you for lending your aid in ending the threats to the skyrealm, namely my frie— I mean, Lucilius and Belial. I realize it was a very difficult endeavor, one that put all of you in mortal peril. Knowing this, you still welcomed me into the fold…”

“Hey, that wasn’t on you at all! You know us, we like to stick our noses into everyone’s business.” Gran’s laughter is more subdued this time. “On a more serious note, there’s no way we could’ve let the world end, so we would have done it even if you hadn’t asked.” He pauses, thinking. “Well, technically you didn’t even ask us — you asked Sandalphon, and he just happened to be with us at the time.”

“Ah, yes.” Lucifer inhales, softly. “And most importantly, thank you for taking care of Sandalphon. I’m forever in your debt.”

“L-Lucifer!” Sandalphon protests. He’s far outpaced his quota of blushing for the day.

“Admittedly, I do not have much power left, and I’ve still yet to grow used to this body. But if there’s anything I can do within my power…”

“Hey, none of that.” Rackam speaks up, huffing. “We’re all friends here. That means you, too.”

Lucifer’s eyes widen. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” Gran says. “What you want matters to us, too. Not just Sandalphon. So don’t worry about it, okay? We all help each other here.”

Lucifer looks stunned, and it’s then that Sandalphon realizes how painfully déjà vu this all is. He’d caught the slip of the tongue, when Lucifer had almost called Lucilius _friend,_ the man who was anything but. A cold-hearted creator who expected nothing short of perfection from him, who forged him to transcend all others; a being of likeness meant to be worshipped, put on a pedestal. A wholly narcissistic endeavor to fulfill someone else’s sense of self. His own desires were inconsequential — he wasn’t even given the option. It makes Sandalphon want to vomit. 

He’s spent enough time with humans to recognize the saying, _time heals all wounds_. He’s going to say it now: it’s bullshit. People who say these things have no damn clue what he — what _they_ went through. They don’t understand because it’s not their pain.

True, Lucifer never had to go through the physical torment that Sandalphon did. He wasn’t the one dissected over and over again, suffering the curse of blood that never drains. But there are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds. Physical wounds heal, but there is no timeline for matters of the heart, of the mind. He doesn’t know the details of what Lucifer went through — he doesn’t tell him, and Sandalphon doesn’t ask— but he can see it in the albino’s eyes, pellucid like the skies from which they are borne. 

They’ve both lived long lives, longer than anyone on the ship, but they still have so much hurt to heal, so much left to discover.

There’s no hesitation when Sandalphon reaches over the table to grab his hand. It’s as conspicuous as it gets, and although every eye is on him, every cell in his body screaming to let go and disappear — he holds on, waiting until Lucifer’s bewildered eyes slide to his.

He can only imagine what’s going through Lucifer’s head. The confusion, the hesitation, the feeling of everything you’ve ever known be flipped on its head, the question of _is-it-okay, am-I-allowed, do-I-deserve-this_. Sandalphon doesn’t know for sure, and for what it’s worth, he could just be projecting; but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, because the look on his face is familiar, _painfully_ so, and Sandalphon can’t help but say:

“It’s okay.” 

_It’s okay_. Sandalphon repeats to himself firmly, curling his fingers over Lucifer’s finely trembling ones. He remembers what Gran had told him, that day when he’d caught him falling through the sky. Sparing a glance at him, he sees the Singularity smiling at him, almost as if reading his mind. The corner of his mouth curves upward, and he turns back to Lucifer. 

There’s a lot that he’s not sure about, but he knows _this_. Just as he knows that tomorrow’s sky will be blue and that dawn will break for countless years to come, he knows: 

“You belong here, with us.” 

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────• 

It feels like an eternity has passed before things settle down and people begin to go their own ways, leaving only a few people lingering including the Captain, who’s deep in conversation with Katalina, with Lyria listening intently. Sandalphon himself had stood and wandered off to the bow of the ship, watching as they cruise pass clouds and dots of islands in the distance.

If there’s one thing he’ll never get tired of, it’s this. 

The sun beams down warm rays on his back, and he’s sorely tempted to unfurl his wings and bask lazily in it, despite his aversion to letting it out for no important reason (not to mention he now has to constantly contend with the question of _which_ and _how many_ , since he now finds himself with a whopping extra five pairs). He spends a bit of time playing tug of war with himself when he hears the telltale fluttering of wings land nearby.

“Sandy!” Malluel chirps. He turns towards her, eyebrows raised in silent inquiry. She had seemed pretty excited talking with Rosetta about flowers and whatnot, so for her to come out here...

“Haven’t you poked fun at me enough for today?”

“Aw, don’t be like that, Sandy!” she exclaims, and it sparks in him a twinge of annoyance — she definitely got that stupid nickname from Lucio. “I just wanted to ask you something.” 

“What is it?” He sighs, nodding at Hal when she descends next to her twin.

“Um…” she fidgets with her fingers, looking slightly abashed. Which was, granted, a little strange since she had been perfectly fine the whole morning.

“Come on, Mal. You can do it.” Hal urges.

That seems to be the encouragement Mal needs, because she looks straight at Sandalphon, only a little nervous when she says, “We were wondering if you ever finished visiting the primarchs.”

If he’d wondered why she’d have any reason to be hesitant, it’s all gone in a flash.

Visiting the primarchs...of course.

He’d almost forgotten. The sort-of pilgrimage he had been on before Cagliostro had rudely interrupted it and dragged him back to the ship. For good reason, of course, but it had laid waste to all his plans. 

When he’d visited the twin angels and Azrael, he’d told them of his intentions to visit the rest of the primarchs. They’d seemed so taken aback, an astonishment that quickly evolved into excitement. When he asked why, they said that they’d never expected Sandalphon to be the type to go out of his way like that.

It aggravated him, but begrudgingly, he knew it was true. The old him would have never bothered with anyone but Lucifer. Now that he’s back, the brunet doesn’t plan on reverting back to his old ways again. 

“No.” Sandalphon admits, almost sheepishly. “Sorry. With everything that was going on so far, it slipped my mind. But I do intend to visit them, don’t worry.” He has no more obligation towards them, especially since they’d hung up their halos. Still, he wants to know how they’re doing. And more importantly, “Do they know about Lucifer?”

“Nope!” The twins chorus in unison, but before they could say anything else, Lucifer comes up to them.

“What’s this about me?” he asks politely, and the twins stumble over each other to explain the situation to their former Supreme Primarch, whose curiosity gradually morphs into interest. By the time they finish, Lucifer turns to Sandalphon, and he doesn’t have to say anything for the brunet to know what’s coming next.

“That’s a wonderful idea.” He says earnestly. “Is there any chance I could come along?”

That’s the end of it, and Sandalphon knows nothing he says will be heard over the joyous clamor of the two angels as they swarm him once more, so he simply smiles before heading back to the picnic table.

Gran is still there, hands cupped under his chin, observing them. He grins as Sandalphon comes closer. “I’m glad to see those two so happy over Lucifer’s return. If they’re already like this, I can only imagine how the other primarchs are going to react.” 

“Yeah.” he replies. “Me, too.”

He can already see it; the boundless light and joy in their eyes as they reunite with their sworn master, beloved and benign. Everything would return to how it should be, how it was ordained to be. And Sandalphon…

He would once again be left to expire into the realm of obscurity. 

Rackam chooses that moment to call out to Gran from the helm, yelling something about their next destination. Gran looks like he wanted to say something else, but he shakes his head and excuses himself, leaving Sandalphon alone.

Once he’s sure that Gran’s left, he tunes everything else out, focusing on the pervasive emotion welling within. 

There’s no mistaking this feeling. He’s felt it often enough way back then, when he was still nothing more than a lab rat. 

But with Lucifer? That’s pure nonsense. If anything, he should be happy that Lucifer wanted to tag along. Of course he’d want to meet his old comrades who’d fought tooth and nail beside him for the sake of the skies. It was only natural for him to ask. So why?

No, he knew exactly why. The truth of it is there, festering and despicable. Try as he might, he can’t simply pluck it as one would a rotten apple from a tree. 

He really hasn’t changed at all. Despite his delusions of atonement, he remains the same as always — greedy and selfish to the very end.

“—dalphon! Heeey, earth to Sandalphon!” 

He looks up, finding the twins gawking at him. “What?”

“We’ve been calling you for the past two minutes!” Mal’s arms are crossed, but she looks worried. “You okay there, Sandy?” 

He wants to say yes. Nothing was wrong with him. He had everything he wanted — a purpose, companions who would stick with him through thick and thin, Lucifer’s resurrection. Everything had ultimately gone his way, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough, was it?

“Never been better.” Sandalphon says, waving it off.

It’s a simple, harmless statement, one that no one should bat an eyelash to. But even then, Sandalphon has a sense of what he is starting; a hot smell pricks his nostrils, like the first wisp of smoke from a far-off blaze. He is so preoccupied that he doesn’t notice Lucifer’s eyes on him, long after they go their separate ways.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

The cafe may be closed, but it is far from empty.

Tables have been moved around, stacked next to each other to make large, rectangular sections. Various brewing utensils lay in organized fashion on each table with a number of people stationed on each, all staring intently at a flipchart in front of the class. 

Sandalphon pops the cap off his marker and gets to work. 

“So now that we’ve established the difference in acidity between various coffee beans and familiarized ourselves with different types of roasts, let’s review what we’ve discussed the other day.” Sandalphon says, checking off various items on the list on the chart. “Who can tell me what the brew ratio means?”

A slender dark arm shoots up, and Sandalphon nods at her. “Yes, Zooey?”

“It’s the first step to brewing.” she replies, steady and sure. “If I’m not mistaken, it’s the ratio of coffee grounds to water by weight in a given shot.”

“Correct. It’s also important to note that this is the most fundamental step to brewing, because the ratio of the coffee grounds to water is what affects the taste and mouthfeel of your brew more than any other factor.” He turns back to the board, jotting down a few notes. “There are different kinds of ratios you can use, but for the purpose of today’s exercise, I want you to use the 1:2 ratio, with which measurements I’ll detail here. It’ll come out viscous and lack some clarity, and that’s fine. Later, when you get the hang of it and move on to larger ratios, you can start experimenting with lighter roasts and taste more individual notes. Are there any questions so far?”

He looks around and sees most of them write in their notebooks, eyes flickering up every now and then in various degrees of concentration. Most of them, save for the boy who looks about ready to punch glass.

“Ayer, you look confused.”

“Yeah…” Ayer says, eyes scrunched up as he burns holes at the object in front of him. “We’re making coffee, right? Are we really using these...glass balloon...things? It looks like it belongs in Cag’s workshop.” 

“Good thing you asked. First, let me assure you that this came nowhere near her shop, otherwise it wouldn’t be here in the first place.” He doesn’t mean it as a joke, but a few people are chuckling anyway. He barrels on. “These are called coffee siphons, and I had to reach out to people I know to borrow some for you guys to use, so be careful.”

It took some time, with how many islands they visit on a weekly basis. But he’s built a pretty steady rapport with a couple of respectable coffeehouse chains, and he’s not keen on burning bridges if he could help it. 

“Huh.” Ayer says.

“Since we’re running a bit short on time today, I’ve gone ahead and let Lyria set up the equipment for you.” Sandalphon nods at Lyria, who’s waving ecstatically at the class. “She’ll be acting manager while I’m gone, so don’t hesitate to ask her about anything.”

“Let me know if you need anything! I’ll do everything I can to help.” she says, long hair parted into two voluminous braids and swaying in excitement. She’s practically sparkling from eagerness.

Sandalphon hears eerie chuckling at the end of the classroom, and he pointedly tries not to glare at the offender. When Claudia had first expressed interest in sitting in his classes, he didn’t think twice about rejecting her… if only Lyria hadn’t intervened beforehand. 

He’s pretty sure that the maid didn’t come to learn about coffee, but Lyria doesn’t seem to mind, so he (begrudgingly) lets it go. “Anyways,” he says loudly, quieting the sounds instantly, “let’s move on to the practical exam, since some of you look like you’re about ready to doze off.” He throws a glance at the notorious Erune trio, with one of them not-so-subtly trying to elbow the other awake. 

For once, he doesn’t blame them — it’s not easy to pay attention when all they’re doing is listening and not doing. He’s more of a hands-on person himself. “I want you to try and follow the directions I put on the chart with everything I’ve taught you so far. I’m setting the timer for ten minutes, although it’ll likely take you far less than that. Good luck.” 

Without further ado, they begin to work, and Lyria wastes no time in skipping off to prowl the tables after sharing a glance with Sandalphon, who’d tried to give her a _look_ , but was promptly brushed off. 

Sandalphon folds his arms and leans against the counter, making himself comfortable. He lets his mind drift, as it always does whenever he’s got some extra time on his hands. He can remember, with startling clarity, on how it all began — although how it got to this point is something he can never wrap his head around. Even now, it feels a little too surreal.

When the twins had reminded him of his unfinished pilgrimage, he’d started to plan right away. Determining the primarchs’ exact locations wasn’t easy, especially since they’d given up the essence of their power that made them easily distinguishable. With the twin angels’ tracking ability, he managed to narrow down the circumference of their whereabouts, with Michael having the most reliable coordinates. He estimated that it would take approximately a week to visit them all, barring any obstacles on the road. Not only that, but it would no longer be a journey he’d embark by himself, so extra accommodations had to be made.

(If it was just him, he wouldn’t mind resting in the wilderness in between trips, but there’s no way he’ll let Lucifer do the same thing.) 

Accommodations, distance, and inventory are all taken into consideration, especially since he’d be separated from the Grancypher for that period of time. There was the question of his cafe, and it had been an easy decision at first — he’d simply shut it down. 

He hadn’t been expecting the slew of protests that rose from the decision, claiming how much the cafe had become the cornerstone of Grancypher’s operations; without it the ship might as well be foundered.

Affectations of kindness, but he’d be lying if he says he doesn’t appreciate it.

With the help of Lyria —mostly how she seems to always rely on the words _big brother_ to hammer away at his defenses— the urging of his own assistant manager, and the relentless surge of support from various people, he’d been forced to reevaluate his decision. 

Before he knows it, he’s hired a handful of staff —some of whom had protested his initial decision— to attend week-long classes centered on cafe management.

It’s the second to last day of his class, and it’s largely thanks to Lyria that he wants to pull his hair out less. _That girl_ , Sandalphon thinks exasperatedly, fondly. Despite the fact that he’d explicitly reminded her five times now to only start helping the students when they’re actually stuck in a rut, not _right from the start of the practicum_ , he doesn’t think this whole gig would have panned out as well as it did without her. She’d taken lessons with him long before he started hosting this class, when she and Vyrn — and occasionally Gran— would volunteer as waitstaff. 

Now he watches as she flits from one table to the next, helping people out with an expertise that no mere novice would possess, with a dash of unwaning enthusiasm and patience that’s almost enviable to see. 

He makes a mental note to make her favorite blend with extra whipped cream and chocolate when they’re done for the day. 

There’s a small explosion towards the back of the room, and the sea of murmuring grinds to a halt as heads turn back to the source. He bites back a weary sigh, resisting the urge to rub his temple. For all of the girl’s help, there’s little she could do to rescue the lost cause that is Clarisse, who is frantically waving away the roiling mushroom cloud she had induced. 

Steeling his mind and body, he trudges his way to the apprentice alchemist, preparing himself for her latest mishap and impending headache. 

The cheerful alchemist had taken to attending his classes presumably to evade her own lessons with her cranky mentor — though he hasn’t a clue on how classes with him are any better. When she’d first shown up at his doorstep, Sandalphon wasn’t concerned. Even before he’d become personally acquainted with Cagliostro, he’d heard of how ruthless the thousand year old alchemist could be when it came down to her pupil, and he was certain that she’d come barrelling through the door to reclaim her stray apprentice at any moment.

Minutes passed, and then hours. A day passed, and there was no sign of Cagliostro. It was two days before a foreboding sense of wariness settling into the marrow of his bones. Three days, and he’s convinced that he’d somehow pissed off Cagliostro. 

Only yesterday, Clarisse had managed to nearly explode one of his precious blade grinders when she thought she could get away with adding _a touch of flair_ , but only succeeded in putting her under unit watch.

“Clarisse,” he starts slowly, after telling Lyria to stay back and help the others. He stares at the blackened mess in the top component of the siphon, and then the soot on her face. It’s impossible to see what the black powder used to be, but he could still smell the residue of something sickly sweet. “Did you put _coffee creamer_ , of all things, in the hopper?”

“Y-Yes?”

“At what point did I tell you that you could put coffee creamer in the hopper while it’s _boiling_? Do you know that creamers are flammable fat and that putting them on top of a heating source can cause them to explode?”

“...Oh.”

“Yes, _oh_ , indeed.” Then he squints, staring at the water in the hopper. The color, the texture… it was clear and _resembled_ water, surely. But something is off. There’s a glass jar of water beside the siphon that he’d provided for everyone, and he dips his fingers into Clarisse’s. When he pulls his finger out, it’s tangy and ever so slightly viscous. “This isn’t water. What is this? What happened to the water I gave you?”

“Um...I mixed a, uh...bit of alchemy in?”

A vein pops in his temple. “Alchemy?”

“Master said if you don’t try new things, you’ll never come up with anything new!” she wails.

It drives him up the wall to realize that Cagliostro didn’t even have to be here to get under his skin. “What you do with her does not equal what you do here. Alchemy is a beast that has no place in the kitchen. Speaking of, why hasn’t she come for you yet?” 

“Uuu…” She shrinks into herself, a small ball.

Sandalphon doesn’t have the heart to keep antagonizing her, so he sighs. “From this point on, you are banned from using any of your alchemic techniques in the cafe. Don’t let me catch your potions anywhere near my apparatus — you don’t want to see the consequences. Ask me if I’m afraid of your ancestors, living or dead.” 

He’s defeated an immortal twelve-winged harbinger of death and nihilism who’d sought to topple the Creator himself. He’s pretty sure he can handle a thousand year old midget.

“Eek!” Clarisse yelps, floundering. “I promise I’ll behave! Just don’t send me back!”

If only he could. He’d have sent her back by now if it wasn't for his assistant manager, who’d opined to give her the benefit of the doubt. Not that it really counted for anything. The guy had always been relentlessly optimistic, even in the face of dire odds. He’s the kind of person who hires human grenades like Clarisse. Sandalphon’s the kind of person who side-eyes people who hire human grenades.

Speaking of assistant managers, the man himself walks through the door, a hand rubbing the back of his neck. He scopes out the room and perks up when his eyes catch Sandalphon’s.

He can’t help biting the bait. A half-smile tugs at the corners of his mouth before he knows it. “Hey, you’re back. How was your appointment?”

When he comes closer, Sandalphon sees the slight strain on his face, his smile the tiniest bit rigid. “It was fairly decent.” He looks like he wants to say more, but pauses when he looks at the brunet. “You look bothered. Is something wrong?”

Ah, he couldn’t hide it fast enough.

“Lucifer…” Sandalphon says slowly. “Next time you see Cagliostro, can you do a favor for me?”

“Anything.”

“Please ask her why she hates me so much.”

“Hate…?” Lucifer repeats, as if the word is alien to him. “I’m sure she doesn’t hate you.”

“You’re right, never mind.” Sandalphon sighs. It feels like he’s aged a hundred years. “Anyways, enough about that. How did the check-up go?” 

If Lucifer had looked pleased for the quick change of topic, it was now gone. Now that he’s close enough, Sandalphon could see the slight sag in his shoulders and a deflated countenance. He’s still smiling, but it doesn’t quite reach his ears.

It’s subtle, but the fact that Sandalphon could pick it up right off the bat is worrying. He had a feeling the albino loathed his visits, but he’d always covered it up particularly well. “That bad, huh?”

“Well…” Lucifer says, considering his words. “It was a little more tedious than usual.” 

Tedious probably doesn’t even begin to cover what he goes through, but it was the most Sandalphon could get out of him, and it’s the closest to the truth that he’s ever been.

Being resurrected in a body composed of alchemic components meant that he was obligated to attend periodic maintenance with Cagliostro, who would examine him for any aberrations and continually update his immune system — although what exactly that entailed, Sandalphon wasn’t privy to, as much as he would like to be. 

If it were by any other examiner, Sandalphon would certainly have more reservations, and maybe even demand to chaperone. But this is _Cagliostro_ they’re talking about. Despite how he feels about her, there is no one else he trusts to take care of Lucifer.

Even if it meant that her fixation with him had unwittingly dumped a handful of Clarisse onto his hands. 

He glances across the room. Lyria had migrated to Clarisse’s side in the midst of everything, and had helped her clean up her mess. Now she’s redoing the process from the start under the watchful eye of the girl in blue. It looks like everything’s shaped up...for now. 

Sandalphon draws closer to Lucifer, who still looks distraught and lost in thought. 

“Something happened, didn’t it?” He asks, quietly enough so that it doesn’t distract the others. “You can tell me if you want.”

Lucifer holds his gaze for a few moments, then sighs. “I’ve made a mistake.”

Sandalphon blinks. A mistake?

“I’d attempted to evade capture, but I sorely underestimated her tracking abilities. I’m tempted to believe that she’s installed a tracking device inside me just to make sure I don’t run.”

“That would be...unethical.” Sandalphon laughs nervously. He can never be a hundred percent sure with that alchemist. “I sincerely hope, for her sake, that it’s not the case. Otherwise, I may have some words with her.” 

“That won’t be necessary.” Lucifer says quickly, almost as if sensing his mounting bloodlust. “It’s nothing but a trifling matter. I’d rather she didn’t double the procedure time in retaliation... I daresay it might already be too late for that.”

The utter dread in Lucifer’s tone gives him pause. It’s hard to believe— this man, who had once reigned supreme over the skies and commanded absolute deference from all the primal beasts under his wing. A being so far removed from the inclinations of mortals is now being forced to do something against his will. Like a child who despises his greens and would try to avoid it at any given opportunity. 

“Hold on a minute.” Sandalphon says, mind backtracking. “Are you saying you _ran away?”_

“I—” Lucifer begins, then halts, almost as if realizing what it really means. “...Yes, I did. Or tried to, I suppose.” 

He can’t take it. The thought of Lucifer being so uncharacteristically guile, coupled with his straightforwardness about committing something so inconceivable to his nature stirs something deep in Sandalphon.

Before he knows it, he’s laughing, full and bright. It’s a laughter that he could feel in his lungs, so hard that it takes his breath away. The lack of oxygen doesn’t matter. For a moment, the laughter creates a small vacation, a blessed relief from all the distress he’d accumulated in his brain. 

For a single moment, nothing else matters. His nightmares, his fears and insecurities, his frustration. He loses the tightness in his chest, and the muscles in his neck relax. 

Lucifer watches all this silently; a soft, knowing smile on his face. “Are you feeling better now?”

 _I love you,_ Sandalphon thinks, a little bit louder.

“Yes, I am.” Sandalphon says instead. “I’m sorry I worried you. I just… feel a little worn out.”

“The crew isn’t bothering you too much, are they? They’re very kind people, but I’ve noticed they can be overly rambunctious at times…”

“No, it’s fine. I actually...don’t mind it all that much.” Sandalphon admits, trying to match his honesty for once. “I just haven’t been getting enough sleep lately.”

“Is it your nightmares?” Lucifer says, leaking concern. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Sandalphon looks down at his feet. “It’s really nothing to concern yourself over. It’ll go away with time, I promise.”

“I see,” he looks mildly unconvinced, but he doesn’t press the issue. “Well, if it’s sleep aid you need, I can get them for you. I’m sure that I can have Shao whip up something potent for you...”

“It’s okay, I can get them myself,” Sandalphon assures him, resting a hand on his arm. He doesn’t tell him that having him sleep by his side also chased away the darkness. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

Lucifer brushes a thumb against his cheek, fingers going to detangle and tuck the hair behind his ear like he’s wont to do so often nowadays. It tickles, but he leans into it anyways. Absently, Sandalphon wonders how Lucifer became so fixated with his hair, but the thought is cut short by the vacuum intensity of blue eyes, coming closer and closer until blue is all he can see, a limitless sky. His own eyes start drifting closed, and he can count down the milliseconds until— 

“Oh, geez! Get a room, you lovebirds!”

For a few blissful moments, he had completely forgotten where he is, and a quick glance from his peripheral vision showed the Lowain trio all layering themselves over Lyria, who is protesting from the suddenness of it all. Others are looking pointedly away, or pretending to be engrossed in their work. And then there’s Clarisse, who’s all but abandoned her current project in favor of directing her full attention at them, chin in hand, eyes sparkling in unbridled delight. 

With great reluctance, they tear away from each other. Sandalphon is sure he’s red as a tomato, but he takes it in stride, urging them to stop wasting time to gawk and gestures at the timer. He glares at them until they all scramble dutifully back to their stations, stifling their grins and whistles to make the most of the meager time they have left.

The facility in which he deals with the situation at hand surprises even him — but he’s long decided there’s no need to act skittish, like he’s doing something wrong. Everything had clicked back into place when Lucifer returned, and he knows the others can see it too. It’s clear as day. What come may from their reunion, he’ll deal with it himself. 

He looks at Lucifer, who hasn’t taken his eyes off of him, gazing with affectionate mirth. It makes his heart thud painfully.

“Go take a break,” Lucifer urges with a gentle smile, leaning in to peck his cheek. “I’ll take over the class from here.”

“Are you sure?” Sandalphon says, rubbing a thumb on the inside of his wrist. “You just got back. Maybe you should be the one resting.”

“Hmm. Don’t underestimate your assistant manager.” With a last brush of his hands, he parts from Sandalphon. “I’ll see you later.” He heads to the middle of class, where he dissolves into the swarm of students seeking his counsel. 

It’s amazing how quickly the air changes. Where everyone had maintained a respectful distance from Sandalphon, all stringent and taciturn, people flock to Lucifer all at once like doves to a particularly alluring morsel. He lets them approach, the picture of warm and receptive. 

When Sandalphon blinks, the crowd suddenly changes, replaced by creatures with wings and brightly colored halos. He blinks again, and the illusion melts away, the distant echo of disdainful laughter along with it.

Sandalphon brings a hand to his cheek and stares after him, trying to stem the pang in his chest. He doesn’t doubt his feelings, not at all. He knows what he feels is true. He wants to believe that Lucifer feels, no, has _always_ felt the same for him. With every fibre and sinew of his being, he longs for it until it aches. 

Then he remembers his doppelganger, a representation of his old self, and the reminder that his past, his sins will continue to haunt him — along with the very real knowledge that history, a poisoned well that has seeped into the groundwater of his being, can repeat itself. And such is the duplicity of history: an idea recorded becomes an idea resurrected. Out of fertile ground, the compost of history will rise once again.

In the chaos of his mind, one thing is clear; he will not let his guiding light tarnish. Not now, not ever again.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

_{Lucifer brings his light with him when he leaves, and the shadow of Sandalphon’s reality sinks its claws into him once more.}_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
